Who am I
by achildofthestars
Summary: Oneshot. Cam's day. The question hangs in the air of silence gone to bed with nightmares and ghosts. She stares into the fogged mirror, hoping to see a glimmer of an answer, but only seeing a blank face distorted by trickling drops of water.


A/N: I don't own House...at all...not even the "." in M.D. I do own the DVD's though, like it really matters, but oh well. Anyways, this is Cameron with a sprinkle of House at the end. I wrote this mostly because of the Cam bashing that's running rampant on so many places. I really think, or maybe hope, there's something about Cameron we don't know yet. Thanks to everyone!

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_Who are you?_

The question hangs in the air of silence gone to bed among the nightmares and ghosts. She stares into the fogged mirror, hoping to see a glimmer of an answer, but only seeing a blank face distorted by trickling drops of water. Shaking her head, she throws off her towel and steps into the shower, letting the scalding streams of angry water devour what is left of her. She can't fight it.

For a moment, her fingers tremble at the buckle on her pump and she immediately throws the shoe off of her foot. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she curls the sheets in between cool hands, trying to tell herself today is not different. She wears the simple pumps for now; no straps.

Walking across the room to her door, she stops suddenly. The light from an open window catches her face and she can feel the warmth of sun brush across her cheek. Moments like these are rare. Moments where time stands still for a blessed second and nothing seems to matter since you know exactly where you are heading. She doesn't know though.

In the quiet conference room, she takes the first sip of rich, hot coffee. Bittersweet, but welcome. The door opens with Cuddy handing her an envelope addressed to House. Cuddy knows better than to give it to him. He'd just bring it back to her. She is after all, the only immunologist who can read his mail. She opens it, nothing ever changes.

He looks at her over his file and she can't help but feel uneasy. Not because she feels sorry, she doesn't. She had told him from the start what she wanted. She feels uneasy because now she knows how House feels. Chase is the Cameron to House. How ironic? As his gaze asks her to look at him, she can't help but wish she would look at him. It would make things much simpler. Date him. Marry him. Have children with him. Love him. But she won't.

It's the third time that he says her name when she finally hears him through the haze of daydreaming. Is that what it is? A daydream? Where you think of nothing at all? It's as if you don't exist for a brief callous moment. No, she thinks, it's a wish.

They say she's a good person. She's good with patients. She can even stand House. No one expects her to have a dark side. She is sunshine and teddy bears won at the state fair. Everyone likes her to some extent. She likes to have friends. She likes to have someone.

Sliding the key into the key lock, she pauses in the parking lot. Rows of vehicles, lined in patterns of society's rules, wait for someone to take them away from here. They have a purpose: to go. She slides the key out and stands there, a fool to the outside world. A sort of fool to herself. She half turns, thinking of walking back into the space of dying patients and working doctors, before she sees him standing by his own vehicle of death. She sees House.

If she could, she would ride his bike again, with or without him, probably without. It's very freeing, terrifying, but she won't. She's a responsible person, or so she tries to be. Looking at him over the empty spaces between them, she feels something she's not sure she can describe. Not love, not hate, not like, not disdain. What is it? She thinks it's envy.

As he walks toward her, not of his own will she knows because he could care less about her, she can feel the question forming. That indescribable sound of his footsteps mingled with cane, echoes off the concrete walls into her ears. When he's mere feet from her, she can see him struggle to say something to her, maybe because he thinks she wants him to so he may as well get it over with. She speaks first.

_Who am I?_

If anyone knew, it would be him. He likes to think he has everyone's puzzle put together and up on the wall. Let him enlighten her.

He doesn't say a word for the longest while, and so she moves her gaze from his face, wondering why she's standing here.

_I…don't know._

It's not the answer she expects, but he always finds a way to surprise her somehow. Her keys dangling from her hand finally feel real again though, and that's something. She looks at him, asking for nothing.

_Well, that's something._

Simple words, but perfect all the same. She gets into her car, sure that today is fine, sure that tomorrow will be fine as well. Things are always fine, at least on the outside, but that's all that counts sometimes. She can't answer every question, but neither can he. She stops at the red light. This is where she turns, on her way home, alone.


End file.
